


Halamshiral

by ToffeeTaffy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToffeeTaffy/pseuds/ToffeeTaffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The birth of a Warden, and the death of her loves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arla

Arla

 

Merrill would think me mad if she could see me now, hear the things I am saying. She is a dear friend but insists that I turn in to another beast entirely when I am with Tamlen. With that twinkle in her eye she would tell me how we turn in to wild animals, creatures content to play in the tree tops and howl at the moon. Right now, as I double over, swallowing greedy gulps of air in to my breathless lungs, I think she might just be right.

“Come lethallan, do not tell me you are already tired. The day has just begun!” Tamlen shouts with that enthusiasm we only possess in each others company.

I smile my greatest, brightest smile, the one that he earns only on days as beautiful as this. It is clear he is pleased with himself but impatient to be on with our merry making. Even as I take the bow from my back and hand it to him he hops from one foot to the next. Then, as I place my quiver in the long, dark grass he eyes me sceptically and stalks closer. I banish the smile from my face and replace it with mock distress before concluding my performance with an over-the-top gasp and faint, buying myself precious time to rest on the cool forest floor. So sweet a friend is Tamlen that he plays along, even knowing my game.

“Dear lady!” He can not help the small chuckle that shakes him, ruining his charade. “What ever is the trouble?”

I flutter my eyelashes at him as best I can, trying hard to play the part of the noble woman, but my knowledge of such things is limited and I may look like rotten fruit instead of a wilting flower. “Why kind sir, I am _ever so faint_. I simply cannot press on.”

My false sobs must be a little too melodramatic for Tamlen, who snorts derisively, shedding the bows and quivers and laying on his back beside me.

“Who could love such a woman?” He ponders, eyes skyward. “They sound all together like too much trouble.”

“Too much work.”

“You said it.”

A few long minutes pass, carried away on the lightest birdsong and the softest breeze before I work up the courage to turn my face to Tamlen and speak.

“So lethallin, what sort of woman is it that you could love?” I admit I am surprised to see that he considers my question, I expected him to shrug it off with a laugh and an elbow to my ribs.

“Well,” he begins, lips pursed, “she would have to be resourceful... and smart. Fun but not needy.”

He glances at me, amused by my obvious curiosity. A small blush tints my cheekbones, I have of course, been caught in one of my shameless attempts to coax sweet compliments from him. If today is like any other now will be the part where Tamlen encourages me to get up and let us be about our appointed tasks for the day.

“And beautiful.” His smile is unwavering. “She should have hair the colour of golden moonlight. You know, the one that casts it's reflection so incredibly on the water's surface at night? And her eyes should be enchanting.”

“Enchanting?” I can not help but interrupt him.

A deep chuckle rumbles up from his chest and he faces me now, the tips of our noses grazing. “Yes, enchanting. The colour of the violets that grow wild in the shade of the forest's tallest trees.”

However flatteringly exaggerated, his description fits me well enough. And now that I finally have the sweetest of compliments that I have _ever_ been able to pry from him, I have nothing to say in return. My nerves have frozen my lips shut. All he does is stare patiently at me, waiting perhaps to hear the very words I have long wished to say to him. How many times have I hoped to have just such a chance to tell Tamlen how I feel? When my jaw finally loosens and my lips part, all that comes is the sound of my breath - heavy from the drumming of my nervous heart. His smile grows weary. I am certain he knows exactly what I wish to say but it is of little comfort to him while the words remain trapped in my throat, fluttering against the walls like a bird in a cage. There is only one more course of action.

I ease my face closer to his, the newly stirred grass perfuming the air with its clean scent. My nose rests upon his, my forehead pressed against his and we stay like this for moment, nerves and the newness of it all holding me firmly in place. Light sweat begins to form on his brow and I can only hope that it means he is as nervous as I am. Fighting back the rather inappropriate urge to laugh, I muster my courage once more and gingerly press my lips to his. It isn't perfect but it is almost too sweet to bear, and in only a second the chaste kiss is over and we're left there - staring in to each others eyes, hidden away in the tall, dark grass.

 

It is the most painful silence of my life so far and I wish he would say something, anything. I feel a strange shame and the back of my eyes begin to burn with unshed tears, desperate to escape and betray my stony exterior. The seconds continue to tick by and holding everything in check is becoming too much. My bottom lip begins to tremble.

“Lethallan.” He whispers so low I can barely hear him.

Thrusting my bottom lip between my teeth does little to stop the quivering that seems to intensify with each beat of my heart and blink of my eyes. But every twitch, tear and shiver dissolves as he runs the back of his fingers along my cheekbone.

“Lyna.” My whispered name doesn't sound like the betrayal I expect it to.

Tamlen lays on his stomach and props himself up on his elbows which he rests either side of my face and there is little else to do but look straight in to his eyes. They're the colour of a perfect storm. Grey and blue like a rumbling thunder cloud before it breaks. I think he whispers my name again but I'm too lost in his eyes, they are the only thing keeping me from breaking.

I hear him this time. “Lyna.” There's a smile in his voice. “Stop being so melodramatic.”

In an instant his lips are over mine and his hand is in my hair, his own little fistful of golden moonlight. He pulls my bottom lip in between his and nips at it gently with his teeth. My lips vibrate in a soft hum and his mouth smiles against mine. It is obvious now that Tamlen is not without skill and I am fumbling along, driven by instinct alone.

 

The only other _real_ kiss I have shared with a man was two winters ago, with Fenarel. Kind and generous as always, Fenarel had volunteered to help me mend the clan's Halla pen, a task I had been assigned as a punishment. After many long hours of dull labour we collapsed exhausted and Fenarel, despite my protests sought no reward. Later than night when the camp was still and quiet I found him alone. I told him I wished to offer him some token but he shook his head and smiled, saying he needed no reward for an act of friendship.

“But there must be something, Tamlen.” I frown.

His eyes were everywhere but on mine as he whispered his request. “Well. Perhaps a kiss?” My eyes flew wide open and even in the dark of the night I could see him pale. “Well- I mean- Just a small kiss on your cheek.”

Before I could lose my nerve I strode forward and pressed my pouted lips to his and closed my eyes. A few seconds of gentle pressure and his awkward hand upon my waist was all the reward I could give him and more than he had asked for.

 

Tamlen pulls his face away from mine and quirks an eyebrow at me. “Lost interest in me already lethallan?”

“No Tamlen, of course not.” My voice is deeper, thick with something I don't quite understand. “This is just...”

“Strange?”

“New.”

“New. But not bad?” He asks.

“No, of course- wait. Do _you_ think it was bad?”

One of his usual chuckles bubbles up and he smiles wide but he does not answer. That annoys me more than it should but before I can tell him, Tamlen is kissing me again. This time his breath is on my neck and his lips press against me urgently. The deep, thick voice I never knew I possessed moans in delight; the sound is low and rumbles like the growl of a timber wolf. I can feel his hand snaking slowly up my thigh, fingers probing tentatively at my leggings until he reaches the top and kneads at the bare flesh hidden beneath the leather of my skirt, his thumb working slow, careful circles. A whimper is the only encouragement I am capable of offering him but he stops at the sound and stares shocked in to my eyes.

“Did you hear that?” His brow is knitted in confusion.

“Sorry, I couldn't-”

“There.”

He pulls himself to his knees and listens to the wind. This time I hear it too.

“Too loud to be an animal.” My voice shakes with the concern I was trying so hard not to taint it with.

“A _forest_ animal, anyway.”

“You don't think... shemlen? Out here?”

He's torn. I can see it plainly on his face. His want to stay here with me and his _need_ to get himself in to trouble. I sigh, knowing that wrapping my arms around him and pressing kisses to his throat will only buy me a moment and what I really want is forever.

“Come on then.” I laugh at the thought of it. Shemlen this far out in the forest. “Let us go hunting.”

 

We gather up our things and Tamlen helps me secure my quiver. It isn't the first time he has ever done so, but it is the first time his hands have lingered over me, the first time he has planted a gentle kiss behind my ear as he pulls away.

A mischievous smile firmly in place, Tamlen bounds off ahead in to the trees. I follow behind, watching his back as I have since we were children playing at tracking and hunting. It doesn't take us long to find them, the shemlen. They are loud, crashing through the undergrowth and they smell, the stink of alcohol and village life upon them. Just out of sight I crouch down, scanning the trees to make sure there are no more. These three are enough trouble.

“Let us pass, elf. You have no right to stop us!” One shem speaks. He cowers less than his friends.

“No?” Tamlen asks, his arrow trained upon one of the hapless humans. “We will see about that, won't we?”

His temper will get the better of him, and though Tamlen has a gentle nature, he has no love for humans. I draw my bow, pulling the string taut and stalk out of the shadowy canopy and to his side.

“You're just in time.” He sneers. “ I found these... _humans_ lurking in the bushes. Bandits, no doubt.”

“We aren't bandits, I swear! Please don't hurt us!”

 

I leave Tamlen to continue addressing the flustered men. He seems to be enjoying himself, scaring them with pointed arrows and dark glares. The shemlen try to convince Tamlen that they were merely exploring a nearby cave but he isn't pleased with their tale. How could they possibly know of such a place? A place that is unknown even to us? They stutter and stammer and as I watch them I can see the last of their anger ebbing. They're finally seeing the very real threat Tamlen poses. He could kill each of them before even one thought to run. And he still might.

Their leader – his pale brow sweating heavily under a mop of russet hair steps forward, his arms outstretched, to offer something to Tamlen. My fingers twitch on the nock of my arrow, ready to let it sail at any second.

Tamlen slung his bow over his shoulder and accepted the offering. “This stone has carvings.” He raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “Is this Elvish? _Written_ Elvish?”

“Th- there's more in the ruins. We didn't get very far in though. There was a demon! With black eyes! Thank the Maker we were able to outrun it.”

“Hah.” Tamlen snorts. “A demon? Where is this cave?”

“Just off the west, I think. There's a cave in the rock-face and a huge hole just inside.”

My friend slips the stone in to his pouch and nods at the shem. The three of them relax as I lower my bow, making sure to hold the arrow still in place.

“Well... do you trust them?” He asks me with some trepidation. “Shall we let them go?”

I smile proudly at his restraint. “You've frightened them enough. They won't bother us.”

“Run along then, shems.” He sighs. “And don't come back until we Dalish have moved on.”

My anxiety melts away when I catch a glance at the wide, cheeky grin spreading across his face. Tamlen is not nearly done with today's mischief. I secure my bow and return the arrow to my quiver, silently praying that whatever other adventures lie ahead of us today, they will go unneeded.

“Well, shall we see if there's any truth to this story?”

Before I can even answer him, Tamlen has my fingers knitted tightly between his as he races off toward the western tree line, dragging me along behind him.

 

. . .

 

Thick with dust and heavy with heat, the air in the cave is hard to breath. Dark blue stone follows us everywhere and each room is filled with giant spiders, fangs glistening. My hands are coated with the viscous blood of the creatures and it makes disarming the ancient stone traps that much harder. Tamlen paces behind me impatiently as I worry at my lip and curse to the Creators. I yank off my gloves, tugging violently at the tips of the fingers and throwing them to the ground, a spray of sweat from my brow slashing across the rigged tile in front of me.

“Why is it so hot in here?” My shrill whine echoes off the stone and the trap beneath my fingertips shakes ever so slightly. The mechanism ticks and for a brief moment I worry that I may well lose my hand.

“It is not so bad lethallan.” Tamlen assures me. “I really don't know why you fear the stone the way you do.”

Of course, I know he doesn't actually mean the stone. “Because it is everywhere.” I know he means my fear of these enclosed spaces. “B- because it is a fool who does not live with the sky above them and the grass below!”

Flicking my eyes from one wall to the next I can almost see them moving closer, hear the dull grind as stone moves against stone, compacting in all around us. The heat is oppressive, sweat stings at my eyes and my fingers tremble. Of course I know that it is not real. If I concentrate hard enough I can make myself believe. Drawing in a long breath I close my eyes and carefully flex my fingers in turn. This is what I'm good at. This is what I'm best at. Confidently I brush my fingertips around the edges of the square tile, over each protrusion and in to each crevice until I can feel it. A final bead of sweat rolls over my closed eyelid and tumbles harmlessly down my cheek when I hear the click.

“See?” Tamlen slaps me on the back enthusiastically. “Nothing to fear.”

“Right... nothing at all.”

Tamlen bounds off in to the next room, sword in hand while I dust myself off and pull my gloves back on. The spider blood begins to dry and the awful smell of it is fading. If I clean them very thoroughly they may last me the remainder of the season.

Bright white light floods the centre of the room. Looking up in to it I can see creases of sky and smell the scent of soil and seed.

“This place makes me nervous.”

I can see in his eyes that he really means it but I cannot help but bark out a little laugh at his expense. “What happened to 'nothing to fear'? So talk,” I reach out for his hand, patting it gently, “if that will calm you down.”

“I suppose so.” His frown etches a deep crease in to his brow but it is gone as soon as it came, replaced instead with a wide-eyed query. “Hey, weren't you supposed to be assisting Master Varathorn today? How did you end up coming with me?”

“I wanted to be with you, of course.” I'm trying so hard not to blush, trying so hard to pretend that the words don't mean a whole other thing today than they would have had I said them yesterday.

“I... thought that might be the case. I'm glad.”

And here it is again. My lips feel feel heavy and my stomach twists in knots, truly I had never thought the nervousness of romantic advances would feel so sickly sweet. Tamlen pulls gently on our joined hands, urging me closer. Somehow he extricates his fingers from my desperate grasp and folds his arms tight around me. I follow suit and wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my body flush against his. When we part, the distance feels like more than I can bear. He's going to kiss me, I know he is. I see it coming like a vision, feel it crashing down on me like a tidal wave. When he does, his lips are dry and cool and tangy from his perspiration. It is agonising. It is burning and beautiful.

 

Each passageway is darker than the last and the air becomes musty. I run my hands over the stout roots that have swollen so incredibly that they burst through the very stone surrounding us. We have wandered for far too long, much further from camp than we should. We have fought an army of spiders – larger than any common hound and, much to my disbelief, a handful of the walking dead. Their bones creaked and they stank of the oddly sweet smell of decay. Mere bones of the creatures that once walked here, they stood and fought, animated by some darkness unknown to me. All my fears are compounded by the narrowing archways, slim corridors and increasing darkness. I prepare myself to tell Tamlen of my cowardice, of my desire to leave when he pushes open a door, revealing the next room and inside it, a large, brilliant mirror.

Blue like a pale moonlight, the mirror shines even in the darkness. Though it is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful things I have ever laid eyes upon I know I cannot trust it. It simply _feels_ wrong.

Tamlen's eyes are wide and he appears somehow _humbled_ as he stares up at it. “It's beautiful, isn't it? Odd that it isn't broken like everything else.” He treads upon the first of the steps leading up to the mirror's surface and small splinters of the rock crumble underfoot. “I wonder what this writing is for.”

Another step closer to the mirror and he doesn't take his eyes from it. The hairs on my neck bristle and I can hear a faint buzzing in my ears, like that of a mosquito.

“Tamlen. We should leave this place, send for the Keeper and-”

“Hey. Did you see that?” He takes another step closer, another step further from me. “I think something moved inside the mirror.”

Goosebumps spread across my arms and a strange, light numbness seems to bite at my toes and fingertips. “Get away from it, Tamlen!”

“Abelas, emma lath. I just want to see what it is.”

Taking the final step he reaches out with trembling fingers to touch the mirror's surface. He says something about an underground city, something about a great darkness but it's getting harder to hear him over the buzzing in my head.

“It saw me!” He shouts.

 

And it is the last thing I hear before all sound dies and my mind explodes in to a million shards of light.


	2. Halamshiral

  
Halamshiral

 

I always knew there would be days like this. Ashalle had said as much. Kind enough to raise me after my parents were slain, a Dalish orphan could have asked for no finer surrogate than Ashalle. Sweet, wise and strong. It is probably not so surprising that I think of her now, clutching at my neckline for the necklace she gave me. The necklace my mother had left for me. Under my groping fingers I can feel my skin- slick with blood and beneath that my pulse- slowing finally. Finally.

My people are _all_ nimble and I, myself, possess an almost preternatural level of agility. That is why I am more than a little surprised to find myself here, lying on my back in a pool of blood, my hands upon my chest, an arrow piercing my leathers, and Alistair's sword at my side. The deep breath I take in cools the raw scratching in my throat but does little to aid the deep burning in my lungs. There's nothing else for it. The arrow has to go. A broken sigh escapes my lips as I turn on to my side and brace the arrow protruding from my flesh. With what little strength remains in my left hand, I snap the bottom half of the shaft off (with the stained and grimy fletching still amazingly in tact) and toss it aside. Worse than that, the final task remains: to extricate the last piece of the arrow, its rusted metal tip passed through my body to protrude from my back. Though I can barely _see_ the offending object, I can _feel_ thin slivers of my flesh clinging to it's jagged head.

Deep breath in. Long breath out. Deep breath in.

Then I yank the arrow out with a grunt. This I assure you is no dainty bark. This is not even the sound of a woman lost to waves of carnal pleasure. It is a guttural sound so deep and dark I can scarcely believe I uttered it. The important thing is that the arrow is out and I can plop on to my back once more, spent. Slowly the pool of blood is cooling and though it seems a strange thing to do, I can think of nothing better than using the goop to cool my feverish forehead. Swiping a long streak of crimson across my brow I trace the pattern I know rests there. My vallaslin shows two trees stretching out from my temples to embrace and entangle their branches in the centre of my forehead. A simple design that my Keeper Marethari once told me suited me so very much that it was as though my soul was drawing upon my skin and she had merely to trace along the path it forged for her. Thinking back on that day is truly bittersweet. My whole clan was happy for me, as we always are for one receiving their blood writing, but no one brimmed more fully with pride on that day than-

“Tamlen.”

The hoarse whisper is barely audible even to my own ears but it still prompts me to raise my head just a little to be sure no one heard. It is the first time since I awoke, caked in blood, that I have really taken in my surroundings. Opposing forces are clashing steel in the distance, thinning hordes of darkspawn fall under the combined might of dwarves, elves and humans. It is clear that my allied forces are winning. The splash and spray of spell blankets the battlements, the whole of Fort Drakon is coated in a magical gloss that is as terrifying as it is glorious. Still, though the tide has turned our losses are not trivial. For as far I can see the corpses of my men are knitted just as thickly as those of the darkspawn. A macabre tapestry.

My wits are slowly returning to me and I am horrified to acknowledge even to myself, that it has only just occurred to me to seek out my companions, to be sure they are all of sound health. Amidst the crashing waves of fighters I can see Zevran striking out with unbridled exuberance, he is clearly of fine health which surprises me a little, flirting with danger the way he does. But of course, that would explain it: Wynne. Some small distance behind him Wynne casts her stream of healing magics, her whispered words and helping hands invigorating her allies; empowering, emboldening. Or who knows, maybe Zevran was right. Maybe she just has a magical bosom.

A weak crackle of laughter shakes my ribs. I’m curious but nevertheless pleased to find that they do not hurt at all. And now it must be time to sit up. Running my tongue over my chapped lips introduces the faint metallic taste of blood in to my mouth and that is also a curious thing. No blood in my mouth, no aching in my ribs and no visible wound other than that of the arrow piercing, I can not help but wonder where all this blood is coming from. So at last I sit up. Turning fully around, my rear end slipping in the thickening blood, I can at last take in the full sight of the battlefield. I press my dripping red fingers to my lips to keep the desperate sobs at bay but I can not stop the stream of tears escaping my swollen eyes.

Bodies. Piles upon piles of bodies. So many more than I had at first thought. So many more than I hoped possible. I struggled to pull myself up on to my knees and finally my feet but the ability to walk would not return to me. Like a newborn Halla my legs slipped and jerked about until I halted my attempts and stood motionless, legs splayed and took in the scene once more. My eyes track the pool of blood at my feet to the source: the Archdemon. Finally I let free a series of sobs and stumble a few steps forward. We have won! The tears stop and I bark out a breathy, wretched laugh that does not sound my own but I am overjoyed. The Archdemon is slain, Ferelden is saved. Then it hits me. I remember just how I came to be so ungraciously on my back, floating in a pool of the Archdemon's blood.

“Alistair!” My shout is so loud and shrill I feel my own ears ringing with the intensity of it. “Alistair!” During the second attempt my voice breaks and a single tear falls from my eye. A ghastly sound, a mixture of my wretched laughter and pleading sobs comes unbidden and refuses to stop. I lean down, skimming my hand along the surface of the crimson pool and grasp the hilt of Alistair's sword in slippery fingers. Fumbling steps and buckling knees I finally manage to circle the Archdemon, dragging the tip of Alistair's sword along behind me. Those desperate sobs finally stop. _Everything_ stops as I remember...

 

“ _Wait.” Alistair begged of me as I threw my bow to the ground and stole his longsword from his grasp, clutching it tightly to my chest. “Let me. There's no need for you to die. This is my duty, I should be the one to kill it.”_

_Enraged blush mottled my tanned cheeks. “And what about becoming king?”_

“ _I do want to be king. I didn't,” he smiled, “ but now I do. And I want to be a good king.”_

_A faint smile ghosted across my lips. What a brilliant king he could be._

“ _And this right here is the best king I could be, my first and last act being to stop the Blight before it really starts.” He reached out for me, his gauntleted palm cool upon my burning cheek. “No one could blame me for that, could they?”_

_I tore his hand from my face with trembling fingers, my ire causing my whole frame to shake. “That's not the only reason and you know it.”_

“ _You're right. I know how I feel about you. I won't let you die, not when I can do something about it.”_

“ _Wait,” I cried, my pleading soaked in desperation, “this is crazy!”_

_A crooked smile grew across his lips. The last of his crooked smiles. “Sanest thing I've ever done.”_

_Before my speeding heart could beat one more time- his lips were against mine. With a mixture of fierce passion and crushing despair he plundered my mouth, taking what little strength he could from me, leaving me broken, wanting and unable to force my limbs in to action. Unable to stop him. He sped forward across the rooftop, toward the Archdemon. Still held tightly against my chest was my last hope, Alistair's sword. All I could do was pray. He couldn't kill the Archdemon without a sword. Closing my eyes I prayed for my wishes to be made real, for him to return the people of Ferelden as a leader, not a legacy and for the second time in my existence, I prayed for my life to be taken in place of the man I loved._

_I opened my eyes in time to see him pluck a discarded greatsword from atop a pile of corpses and sprint toward the Archdemon. The tainted creature beat it's shadowy wings and screamed it's sickening dirge, sensing his end. Alistair planted the tip of the blade in the creatures piebald neck and slid down on to his knees to work the sharpened edge the full length, extracting the blade finally from it's stomach. Wildly the dragon's neck flailed before crashing to the ground with a dull thud, spraying blood all around. Alistair cast one final melancholy stare my way and I sprinted towards him, certain I could still make the ultimate sacrifice for him, for Ferelden. I raised his sword clumsily in to the air, a few short strides from his side, and pressed on. Alistair pointed his sword high in to the air and spoke his last words to me. I could not hear them over the vicious thumping of my own heart in my ears, but I could see his lips pull in to a frown and whisper “I love you” before he plunged the blade in to the creatures head. A great shaft of light shot out of the bloody skull and stretched all the way in to the sky, a pillar of gold to show the world their salvation was at hand. As he removed the sword a final burst of energy exploded from the Archdemon, the shockwave sent us both flying and then, all I knew was black._

 

I'm shaking my head because it is all I can do to make the flood of memories stop. I'm closing my eyes because it is all I can do to banish the sight of him now, limp, sailing away on a sea of demons blood.

I always knew there would be days like this.


End file.
